


Black Roses

by PhoenixxWispp



Series: Let The Star Guide The Angel [2]
Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode V: Empire Strikes Back
Genre: (In a sense?), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Feels, Heavy Angst, How Do I Tag, M/M, Necromancy, Rebirth, Soul Selling
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-14
Updated: 2017-06-14
Packaged: 2018-11-14 02:02:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11198142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoenixxWispp/pseuds/PhoenixxWispp
Summary: “What if we told you…” the creature purrs softly, interrupting Galen’s thoughts as horribly wrinkled fingers snake onto the table.“That we could bring Maximilian Veers back,” the other figure finishes.OrA month after Max's untimely death, another solution opens up for Galen, but...it isn't quite as simple as it seems.





	Black Roses

Galen doesn’t bring flowers to Max’s grave. 

The first and last bouquet he brought was a storm of yellow, red, and that one glimmer of white, each petal individually watered with the evidence of his grief. Evidently, to Galen, that was enough, since never again did he bring more flowers.

But he never did have the heart to replace those roses. So they sat there, blackened and withered, their beauty stolen from them by the weapon that was time. They are no longer watered with the crystalline tears that allowed them to grow. Flourish, even.

Because Galen doesn’t cry anymore. 

Whenever he visits Max’s grave, there is no pain. There is no anguish. Simply, a gaping hole aching to be filled, filled with what could not be. 

No pain meant no tears. No tears meant no roses. 

So, now, Galen kneels one one knee, clad in black, as the dull hazel of what used to be brilliant brown gazed upon those black roses sitting so luxuriously on that headstone that still haunts Galen’s dreams in a futile attempt to make him  _ feel  _ again. 

His eyes see but his mind doesn’t believe. 

 

_ R. I. P. _

_ Maximilian Veers _

_ March 27, 1964 - May 1, 2016 _

 

“It’s been a month,” he says softly, his voice barely a whisper. It doesn’t crack like it used to and the emptiness hurts more than it used to. 

“I-I’m sorry.” He rubs an eye before looking down at his feet, feeling as if half of him has been forcibly torn from his body.  _ I am only half a man without him.  _

“I should have come earlier. Work, you know. The usual.” Words blend and they start to become unintelligible. His voice cracks now and he wets his drying lips in order to articulate better. 

“Orson is more bearable in the office.” Galen chuckles softly at his own words and pauses to reach out to touch the marble. To let his fingers trace the grooves in which Max’s name was carved. He’s surprised to see that, once again, he expects to feel flesh beneath his fingertips. A flinch grasps him as his fingers twitch away from the cool stone.

“I should...leave.” 

When he stands up and turns around, blinking more than he should, his usually attentive eyes don’t catch two men, standing still as the stones littering the graveyard, four piercing bright yellow orbs following Galen’s movements as he leaves, phantom grief in his wake.

 

...

 

It’s raining by the time Galen makes it to the pub he always drinks at every time he visits Max’s grave. He doesn’t partake, but after Max’s untimely death, he found alcohol was the one temporary patch to the hole that threatened to devour him inside out. He knows the comfort isn’t real and Max wouldn’t have approved of his drinking, but he finds he doesn’t  _ care _ .

Galen glances around the pub from the bar, and as usual, the area is gloomy, small, and dark, if not more so due to the dark clouds and the pounding rain. Therefore the two hooded figures standing in the corner don’t really strike Galen’s eyes, although a nervous twinge starts in his gut as they move towards him. Even so, he barely twitches as they seat themselves on either side of him. He doesn’t care enough to protest or react, even though red alarms run through his head. 

Until one of them touches his arm almost reverently. 

Galen jumps at that and whirls around to face a man, no, a creature, his eyes glowing yellow as he stares him down, gaze sharp and piercing. Wrinkles lined what used to be a face and he looked beyond frail, although an air of power nearly dripped off of him. He was hooded (thank the Lord) and Galen stared at the shaded figure in growing panic.

“What do you want,” he hisses, jerking his arm away. The creature stares at him and he begins smiling, a heart grasping, eerily sharp smirk as he observes Galen’s reaction. 

“Here isn’t the place,” the creature whispers smoothly, flicking his gaze over to the few men who suddenly began to stare. Galen nods numbly and follows the creature to a small booth, urged along by the man behind him. 

Galen doesn’t dare turn around and observe the man, but he was definitely less frail. His body was strong and from the brief moment when he slowed and the man bumped into him, he could feel the power beneath what must have been robes. When a hand extends and slowly pushes him along by the small of his back, Galen can swear it feels like metal. 

_ I’m going to die _ , Galen thinks, but he finds he doesn’t care about that either. He would welcome Death with open arms - there was nothing left for him here.  _ Without Max, I am not even half a man. I am nothing.  _

After what seems like a century, but was actually most likely a few seconds in actuality, he sits at the booth, the two hooded figures sitting across from him. 

“What do you want from me?” Galen asks sharply. He doesn’t fear death, not now.  _ At least I will see Max again. Nothing else matters. _

“What if we told you…” the creature purrs softly, interrupting Galen’s thoughts as horribly wrinkled fingers snake onto the table. 

“That we could bring Maximilian Veers back,” the other figure finishes. Galen nearly jumps as the other man talks; his voice is coarse, almost as if badly burned, and his eyes, a yellow just a shade duller than the other’s, fix onto him. But what shocks him the most are the other’s words. In his grief and slight drunkenness, words tumble out of Galen’s mouth.

“B-bring him back? How? Why? He’s dead…” Galen shakes his head and fights back a broken laugh of disbelief. 

“We are aware,” the creature chuckles. “Unless the name on the gravestone is wrong.” Galen nearly jumps out of his skin at that.

“Yes, but, he’s  _ dead _ ...who are you? Why are you doing this?”  _ Why are you playing with my grief? What is this madness? There is no such thing as bringing back the dead... _

The creature’s chuckle increases in volume, and Galen finds it silences him and his thoughts as well. Or...something...else seems to be keeping his lips sealed. He blinks and listens as the creature talks to him. 

“You loved him, didn’t you.” It is not a question. Galen nods, unable to speak for reasons unknown to him. For a moment the horrible golden eyes disappear as eyelids slide over them. The creature inhales deeply before the gaze is back on him, slicing him to the core. Galen gasps as he feels... _ intruded _ upon. As if his deepest secrets are being uncovered. The creature turns to the other man who nods slowly. The intruding feelings increase until it’s almost unbearable. 

_ They’re taking what’s left of me! _

“You want the flowers,” the man says after a pause, Galen’s insides wrenching and tearing all the while. 

“W-what?” 

“You want him to be there.” Once again, it isn’t a question. Galen flinches again at the sound, and only then, does he hear a slight rasp in his breathing, almost like there was a respirator of some sort hiding in the robes. 

“I don’t understand…” But before he could say more, the man’s metal wrist flashes out to catch his, and Galen suppresses a scream as the cold material closes around him, but it wasn’t even that aggressive, rude action that makes him gasp. As soon as metal met skin, Galen is thrust back to where he tried so hard to repress. 

 

_ There was a knock on the door. It was late, ten o’clock, but not too late for visitors. Galen sighed and stood up to answer the door. When he opened it, he gasped in surprise. It was the man he met at the coffee shop. A man he never thought he’d see again. And he was carrying… _

_ A beautiful bouquet of roses. _

_ He brought a storm of yellow, red, and that one glimmer of white, dew on each petal, and Galen felt the first smile begin to light his face in a long while as he gazed upon the beauty presented to him.  _

 

“You would like him to return, to bring you flowers once more…” the man pauses and presses deeper into Galen’s mind, devouring that brief bit of warmth thrust upon him. “You would like, no, you  _ need _ him to resume his role as your Angel of Iron, the man who truly  _ cared _ about you when no one ever bothered to give you a second look even when you needed it the most.

You need him again so he can hold you in his arms, oh you did love pressing yourself flush against him, feeling the strength and prowess. You need him again so he can run his fingers along your spine like he always does, coaxing happiness and  _ fulfillment _ where no one else could. Where no one eyes cares enough to try. 

You want him back because you want to feel his muscle underneath your arms as you wrapped yourself around him, eliciting the first real smile you’ve ever smiled in a long while. You want him back because you cared for him, loved him, cherished him, treas-”

“That’s enough!” Galen nearly shouts. He collapses further on himself as more eyes turn to him and the two figures. He feels lost, cold, and broken as he hugs himself tightly. Was it just him or did the bar get cooler? 

“Am I incorrect?” the man asks softly, eyes glinting as sharply as ever.

“No…” Galen croaks. “I want him, I  _ need _ him back.” 

The creature smiles in delight at the words and the man leans back until Galen can begin to get a glimpse of his face and it jolts him to the core, seeing the burns and wounds there. 

“Do you want us to bring your Angel of Iron back to the land of the living?” the creature asks silkily. 

“Yes!” Galen responds, his mind not even bothering to contemplate the risks. Not bothering to question why to strangers were offering him the impossible. 

“There will be consequences...there will be paym-”

“I don’t care,” Galen gasps. “Bring him back to me.  _ Please. _ ” It isn’t even about logic anymore. He clings to the idea, minuscule as it is, that Maxie... _ his _ Maxie would be returned to him. 

The creature cocks his head at that and the smile returns, toothy and sinister. Galen gulps as the gaze softens like that of a predator that just caught its prey. 

“Please,  _ Galen Erso _ , call me Sidious.” 

 

...

 

Everything about Sidious and Vader is predatory and Galen felt as if he’s signing his own death warrant as he stands up wearily and follows the two out the pub. He feels a phantom warmth at his side, and that could only be  _ Max _ . 

The rain has thinned out by the time they reach Sidious’s dwelling, traveling on foot through the mud. Galen is surprised to see the house isn’t at all what he imagined. Perfectly structured like a modern household, it doesn’t live up to the idea of a dark and suspicious hovel he imagined. Galen finds he’s grateful - he’d rather not be languishing away in such a place and much rather meet his fate in a place that gave at least a false sense of security. 

As soon as he treads through the large, oak door, stepping into the threshold of the unknown, he feels his rain-sodden overcoat immediately dry now that there were no people to witness that act of sorcery. Galen whirls around at that and fixes the two men with a terrified look before he’s ushered further into the house. 

“You said you could bring Maxie back,” Galen tries after a long pause. Vader turns and fixes him with a glare as Galen shrinks back on himself further. 

“One thing we attempted to tell you before you interrupted...it must be  _ your _ life force that brings him from the clutches of death.”

Galen stops short. 

“M-my life force?” Galen stutters as Vader speaks. Sidious chuckles. 

“You sealed the deal with the Devils, my dear Dr. Erso...you have, quite literally, sold your soul to us.” 

The two swarm around him until two figures seem like a million, swirling around him. Galen feels smaller than ever and emotion and logic both elude him as Sidious suddenly reaches out and firmly grips his shoulder. 

It’s then that he finally feels a cling to life he hasn’t felt since Max passed. _Live!_ _Live! Live!_ His mind chants for what is impossible now. _Max...how can I fail when you are this close?_

The voices in his head don’t all belong to him now as Sidious, Vader, and even Max begin speaking, all at once while he himself screams for mercy, more and more voices flooding into his head.

_ For his life… _

_ For the life of the man you loved… _

_ For  _ mine  _ Galen… _

_ Live! Live! Live! _

_ We’re so sorry, Maximilian Veers, he’s...dead… _

_ For his life you would give your own…? _

_ I love you, Galen, always have, always will… _

_ Live! Live! _

_ You need him to resume his role as your Angel of Iron… _

_ Live!  _

_ You cared for him, loved him, cherished him, treas- _

 

There’s a flash of white light and his world goes black.

**Author's Note:**

> So...this has been a plot bunny that's been bothering me for quite some time...well then...guess I might as well do something with it... _runs and hides_.
> 
>  _Shouts from the void_ hope you enjoy!


End file.
